Blue Miracles
by tennisshoema'am
Summary: Gamzee's remorse leaves a churn in his gut, paralleled only by the fervor he feels for a certain blue blooded troll. But could forgiveness ever possibly be granted for an act so disgustingly vile? And, if it were, how would the other trolls react- would they welcome the change, or resent it? Explores the various relationships between trolls, focusing on Gamzee/Equius.
1. Chapter 1

**(Authors Note:**

**Welp, this is the first fanfiction I have ever done, which is exciting to say the least. I will attempt to update weekly, but as finals are coming up it might end up being more sporadic. Comments/Reviews/whatever would be very well received, and I hope you enjoy!)**

The night, as he would remember it, fuzzed out around eight p.m. and took the rest of the day with it, his usually clear mind blurring like paint on a wet canvas. Colours tangled and wove into each other, the beginnings and ends of their threads indecipherable. Hours later, the trails of incoherency trickled down into just a few lines he could pull stoutly together. They formed a carpet first, threadbare and worn and smelling of sweat and alcohol, a pungent mixture that led him to make the very unwise decision of attempting to stand.

The world rushed about him before he even made it to his knees, and he almost fell, catching himself just in time with the palms of his hands. After allowing himself a few minutes of recuperation, he looked around the room, carefully studying his current location. It came as no surprise to him that he was in a dream bubble; however, this room wasn't something he remembered.

It was a shabby place, with few furnishings in much disrepair. An archaic couch matched the carpet he sat on, accompanied solely by a make-shift milk crate coffee table, now stacked high with emptied glasses. Along the far wall, a counter jutted out awkwardly, the kitchen it once guarded having now disappeared, and it too was littered with the refuse of a long night. It looked, he thought adeptly, like something from the burned up memories of a very drunk person; in other words, him.

The troll in question was a tall one, well muscled and rather unpleasant looking on the offhand glance. His grey skin was dimpled with scars from where he had accidentally scratched himself, and was often gleaming with sweat. This late at night, his hair had become a greasy, knotted mess, eventually given up on and thrown back into a ponytail. His body, far too strong for his mind, often served as more of a clumsy distraction than any asset, and his drunkenness did not help.

To the right was his drinking partner, another strange-looking specimen. He harbored a cultish love for clown lore, and wore face paint to mark him as one of their own. As the night had crawled along, it had mostly smeared off, leaving his grey face a besmirched mess. The juggalo was extremely tall, though not as tall as the first man, and not nearly as buff. Instead, it looked as if someone had grabbed the arms and legs of a normal sized troll and pulled hard, stretching the clown-boy out as far as anatomically possible.

Equius, though now sober enough to remember his name, was unable to recall exactly how they had found the dream bubble of their current residence, and had long forgotten what had led to him drinking with the high blood- Gamzee, as he was better known- in the first place. Normally, the brutish troll would have never gone near the clown man, for despite Equius's reverence for the blood based caste system, Gamzee had lost all of Equius's previous respect when he killed both him and his beloved morial, Nepeta.

Not that Equius did not understand the violent urges which paralleled being a higher up on the blood caste- he was only a rung lower than Gamzee, after all- but he had tried his best to never hurt another troll. Equius's own hive- now destroyed- had been full of dismembered robots, evidence of the brute's inner turmoil. They were his own creations, and they were built for the very purpose of destruction. See, Equius was a very, very strong man, and he had a temper which often got the best of him. Rather than hurting anyone else, though- the normal outlet in troll culture- he would fall back to fighting these robots, his opponents numbering many before his mind had settled. In this way, he kept himself sane, and did not bring harm unto another living creature. Therefore, Equius understood violence, and the high blood's need for it.

But the slaughter Gamzee had wrought almost a year ago was not simply out of need. It was brought on by a sudden fit of sobriety, an adjective which usually could never be applied to the juggalo boy, and it was full of unnecessary malice. Equius had been willing to kneel for his higher-up, to submit and do whatever the indigo blood had wanted him to, had he not been so confused by the false eyewear Gamzee had donned or the changing volume of his voice; still there had been no mercy. And killing Nepeta- Equius felt an all too familiar flash of indignation. No, what Gamzee had done was inexcusable.

So he was surprised to find himself sprawled out next to the boy, drunk and woozy, emotions clouding over his intoxicated eyes. That Gamzee managed to find him amongst the chaos which were the dream bubbles, as well as convincing him to make merry, was an impossible idea. Perchance their had been some sort of gathering, involving the liquor the Rose human had recently been experimenting in, and Gamzee had somehow procured some and then entered the dream bubble afterward? For the life of him, Equius could not functionally remember whether or not the meteor was passing through a dream bubble in order to give any of the living trolls daytime access.

The purple-blooded boy turned to him, the usual stupid smile plastered across his makeup ridden face. Equius sensed something dark moving behind those dark irises, though he didn't comment or feel afraid. He couldn't die twice.

"HeY, mOtHeRfUcKeR," Gamzee's voice was hoarse from the drinks burning his throat, and he propped himself up on his elbow to be more easily heard. "hEy."

Equius sat up as well, pulling his legs in and crossing them. His usual good posture was askew, leaving him to lean and waver unsteadily forward before placing his hands on the ground and staying in a hunched position.

"Yes?" He asked. Despite being drunk off his ever-livin' (ever-dead?) ass, Equius's words were still somehow eloquent, poised with a naturally poetic lilt. It was the sort of voice no one would expect from someone with such a lumbering size and shape.

"I jUsT wAnTeD tO sAy Im ReAlLy MotHeRfUcKiNg SoRrY aBoUt WhAt HaPpEnEd." Gamzee was familiar with almost all levels of intoxication, so much that he felt able to string a coherent apology together. It was undoubtedly the incorrect time and place for such a confession, but the clown man doubted he would have another chance alone with Equius.

The blue-blood felt a trickle of sweat begin at the top of his hairline, wildly uncomfortable- and somehow attracted- by someone so high above him offering an apology, even if it was well deserved. Above all this, a strange deluge of anger surged through him, and he was unabe to surpress it, despite how far gone he was in drink. Gamzee owed much more than an apology. The thought furthered the darkening blush on his face- but it was true, and Equius did not even mean it for himself. It was Nepeta who had suffered, alone and terrified in the vents while she watched her morial- of all people!- die, just before following him to the grave.

"It'S nOt ReAlLy EnOuGh, I kNoW," Gamzee continued. Even with his high tolerance, the painted boy was knocked sideways by the amount of liquor inside him, and it was leading to loose lips. Equius turned his head away, slightly, his face and bare arms glistening with sweat at Gamzee lowering himself with such an apology.

The makeup smeared face of the clown boy stretched into an unnoticed frown, unable to feel a pang of sadness at Equius's unwillingness to forgive him.

He had never really known Equius before the game, at first hearing his name only in passing. He was Nepeta's morial, was all Gamzee really knew, and people didn't like him much. He was socially awkward and had a body odor problem and was too strong to get near to anyone in person without accidentally crushing them. It was a name that had strangely piqued interest in Gamzee, if only due to the mystery.

However, Gamzee had never gone out of his way to _resolve_ this mystery- that wasn't how the boy worked. He was a fan of waiting and watching and allowing things to come to him by the sheer force of the supernatural, instead of pressing for things no matter how much he wanted them. If the time was right, he sometimes dropped a comment or a beat, but nothing so large scale as going out of his way to find a hidden relic.

He had a few times talked with Equius, but only if Equius made first contact, and thereafter it usually didn't go so well. The blue troll just always seemed so… _disappointed _in him, his mannerisms and choices for friendship. He'd asked Gamzee to attempt ordering him around, but that hadn't ended well as the purple-blooded boy really had no idea of how to do so and no intention to learn.

Still, when he had learned that Equius had joined their session of the game, he had felt as if the colours of the world had rained down upon him.

And yet he had never been able to talk with Equius for more than a minute- the blueblood was always ducking out of conversation or constantly apologizing for some unnecessary misstep. With such strong ties to the hierarchy, Equius found Gamzee's flagrant apathy towards the usual customs unnerving, and sometimes went out of his way to avoid him.

However, miracles continued to be Gamzee's favored method of going about his daily business, so he did not openly press the matter. But he would be a liar if he pretended that he did not sometimes wish for certain miracles, such as the one that seemed to be occurring now. He could feel the heat radiating off the blueblood's body, flushed with delicious, mind-altering toxins and an odd, late-night induced nostalgia.

"I…" Gamzee perked up, suddenly, as Equius began to talk. "I forgive you."

They were both thinking of their few conversations, but in different shades. Equius still remembered the confusing emotional mingling of both disgust and respect he had found for the high blood, the first for his manners and the latter for his purple plasma. Though he did remember how the troll had indulged him, attempting to order him around despite not understanding how to do so.

It was impossibly queer, the idea that someone of lower rank could have the authority- the _audacity_- to require an apology from a high blood in return for their forgiveness. He was unsure whether or not he actually meant the words he had forced out of his mouth- they felt like such a debasement of Gamzee's inherited authority! Moreover, Equius still harbored a burning anger, unable to wash away the sight of Nepeta dying on the floor next to him. He could not bear it- but he felt that the indigo blooded boy _wanted_ forgiveness, and so he gave him a parcel of lies.

"MoThErFuCkIn' MiRaClEs," Gamzee rolled back so that his spine was once more parallel against the floor, and from behind his cracked glasses Equius thought he saw some other emotion pass across the juggalo's face, though he could not place it and did not really want to.

So it came as a surprise when Gamzee suddenly sprung back up, slamming his knees down hard into the thin carpet to come at almost level eyesight with Equius. Their knees were almost touching; the blueblood noticed this with a flush of embarrassment, though the thought was quickly overrun by the foggy intoxication of his mind.

On the opposite side of the drunken pendulum, Gamzee was shot through and charged with the alcohol in his veins, so much that he had to restrain himself from grabbing Equius's shoulders as the words spilled out of his mouth, the sudden hunger for Equius's thoughts and feelings.

"Do YoU mEaN tHaT, bRoThEr?" Gamzee asked frantically, in more earnest than Equius had ever seen him. "Do YoU rEaLlY fOrGiVe Me Or Do YoU jUsT fEeL yOu HaVe To?"

The blueblood froze at the confrontation, unable to sort out his feelings here. A higher blood was demanding his honesty- but the honesty would also mean disappointment for him. So was it better to disappoint or disobey? At the conundrum, he began aware of the sweat which trickled between his shoulder blades.

Annoyance shot through Gamzee's veins, but he quickly quelled it. He was not sober- quite the opposite, in fact, thanks to the strong concoctions Rose had recently been creating- but he was still terrified that the currently silent voices would start up and reach him once again. It was impossible to die in a dream bubble, since participants were either dead themselves or asleep- and would just wake up if they perished- but it was possible to hurt them, he believed, and so he still worried over what he would do if provoked.

Yet the idea that Equius was about to lie to him all because of some stupid genetic difference was so obnoxiously irritating that Gamzee could not allow him to do so.

"StOp, MoThEr FuCkEr," he ordered, and Equius snapped to attention, his face flushed and confused. "I cAn FeEl yOu AlL tHiNkIn' OvEr ThErE, tRyIn' To FiGuRe OuT wHaT i MoThErFuCkIn' WaNt. DoN't Do tHaT- i WaNt To KnOw YoUr AnSwEr, NoT yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN' cOvEr."

"I—uhm… I e%pect- I apologize." Equius was only more confused now, and the near dejected look on his face made Gamzee squirm inwardly. He hadn't meant to hurt him! But it was so infuriating, trying to work a real answer out of someone so afraid of making mistakes, especially now with what had happened.

Of course, Gamzee only had himself to blame for that one.

"DoN't ApOlOgIzE, mOtHeRfUcKeR. jUsT tElL mE."

There was a strange under current in Gamzee's voice that welled a certain alien feeling in the pit of Equius's stomach, some uncomfortable warm feeling he could not place.

"I—uh—I just" Equius sputtered, still unsure of how to properly answer. "Perhaps—I do not know."

Sensing how uncomfortable Equius had become, Gamzee finally backed off, even scooting away a few inches so that they could no longer feel the heat radiating off each other, maintaining a safe distance. Talking to Equius was impossible- he just couldn't seem to get through to him.

"I wIsH i HaDn'T dOnE wHaT i DiD," Gamzee was unusually quiet, his voice still wavering with drunkenness but with a surprising amount of false sobriety. "iT wAs So MoThErFuCkInG sTuPiD. i JuSt KePt HeArInG aLl ThIs ShIt AnD-"

"If you will e%cuse my boldness, highb100d, it was more than foolish merely for you to do so. It was extremely wrong of you," The words spilled out of Equius's mouth without thought, the anger surging through his body threatening to overwhelm him. His hands shook and he clenched them in response, attempting to stop the need for him to express powerful emotion through the invigorating release of physical activity. He wanted to slam his fists into the carpet and crack the dreamt-up concrete underneath, smash a hole in the wall a mighty blow. Most of all, he wanted to hurt Gamzee, to pay him back for what he did to Nepeta. It was the sort of thing he immediately regretted- talking so rudely to or even _thinking _about harming a high blood, even one so loathsome and disgusting as this one, was simply not allowed.

He cleared his throat. "I apologize, highb100d. That was inconceivably rude of me. It was not my place."

Gamzee had fallen silent, encircling his arms around clumsy knees and pulling them up as to rest his heavy drunken head. Equius was always going on about his place- his _place_ - as if trolls were born in boxes shaped by the colour of their hemoglobin. The blue-blooded troll had never understood how Gamzee could be friends with Karkat, someone so low ranking on the blood caste that he hid the true form of his life-force under grey silt. Equius was allowed to be mad at the ones above him when he was wronged.

Yet there were still those strains of anger, those dark voices he could feel whispering just outside the veil of forced intoxication, and he knew if he wasn't careful they would grip his mind like a vise and strip it down until nothing else remained but the rage gifted to him by his blood. Equius would not forgive him, he could tell, and the dulled red flower of anger was weaved through with the dark sediment of disappointed murk, a great tide of sorrow. It was his own fault, Gamzee reminded himself mournfully.

"YoU dOn'T fOrGiVe Me ThEn?" Gamzee tried one last time, already knowing the answer. It was perhaps careless of him to toy with the already uncomfortable Equius's emotions further, giving him another chance to lie and continue on in his fabled little world of hierarchy and submission. "TeLl Me HoNeStLy," he added after a pause, to remedy this.

For the longest time, all was silent, with Gamzee simply watching the internal struggle inside of Equius. There was so much rage there, barely concealed by the frame of his broken glasses, and yet sweat beaded his brow in the temptation of falling back on the familiar pattern of obedience. Still, the high blood had said to be honest.

"I… no, I suppose I do not." Equius stated after a moment, dropping pennies into the musty water of their silence. They rippled out in a slow motion, small rivets in the surface that washed over Gamzee in a breaking sort of way, flowing fast and calm through the poked holes in his façade.

The painted face of the troll did not drop- in fact, he even slanted his lips up to form a smile, albeit a fake one.

"YeAh, MoThErFuCkEr, ThAt'S hOnEsTy RiGhT tHeRe. SoMe ReAl GoOd ShIt, ThAt iS."

Equius said nothing, still concentrating keeping back the tide of anger which threatened to overwhelm him, especially now that the other troll was changing the subject, taking this all so lightly. Gamzee realized he wasn't about to get a response and that the polite thing to do was leave the raven-haired troll to be alone so that he could smash things up.

"i ThInK i'D bEtTeR lEaVe," Gamzee told him, offering another counterfeit smile. "WoUlD yOu MiNd If I cAmE bAcK tO vIsIt A bRoThEr?"

Equius wanted to say no, to shoo out the juggalo and never have to deal with all the anger Gamzee stirred up within him. Yet he could not, for the idea so revolted his personal values that he had to consent.

"If it pleases you, highb100d," he finally acquiesced.

"ThAnKs BrO," Gamzee said, pulling himself to a stand, careful to keep his expression blasé. "I'lL cAtCh Ya LaTeR tHeN." With that, the clown boy left the room, slightly stooping to allow room for his horns.

Equius calmed himself with deep breaths and silent recitals of numbers, listening as the door closed and then to the footsteps carrying the stumbling Gamzee away, back to the meteor and his friends and his _life_- because Gamzee still had that. Only after he could no longer hear the tread of the juggalo boy did Equius allow his emotions to break through, and it was less of a crack than an all out and final smashing.

The troll lunged to his feet, growling and unsteady in his drunkenness, before slamming his thick arms into the wall nearest to him. His fists broke through the mortar, crumbling it into sand and rubble which fell at his feet, dusting his legs and abdomen with a fine white powder. He paused, a darkness welling up inside him and causing him to, instead of continuing his outburst, rest his head on the cool brittle wall.

The rage still churned sickeningly inside him, but he knew that all the physical strife would not be worth it. This was not the sort of anger he could merely sweat out; it was burning and encompassing and would not cease. No matter the hemospectrum or hierarchy, Equius could not ever see himself forgiving his higher-up. Not after what had happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note**:

**Wow, thank you all who reviewed! You're very kind.**

**As promised, here is the second chapter. It is a pretty slow chapter, as it pretty much just centers around the boys thinking and being confused, so for that I apologize. Still, I hope it is enjoyed. **

**The next chapter includes everyone's favorite moriallegiances, so stick around, I guess! :)**

Navigating back to the meteor hadn't been easy, especially due to the pounding which was beginning to radiate with hungry flashes through Gamzee's skull. The pilfered alcohol was beginning to wear off and already he could hear the voices scraping down his back with their long and angry claws, pricking at the blood claimed so royal to spike anger throughout his veins.

He pressed a hand through his tangled hair, bony fingers catching and tearing at the snarls. It did nothing but worsen his headache, but he didn't mind; he'd take insufferable pain over the feverish whispers in the back of his head any day.

Gamzee wriggled into the first vent he came across, a movement he had become quite skilled in lately. The sound of the grate snapping shut behind him was almost always accompanied by a pang of pure terror, because he was never sure if he was going to come out again. Sometimes the voices sent him down such spiraling swirls of fear and pain he had to curl up in a ball in the middle of the wrought iron maze just to make certain he wouldn't bust out and kill anyone else. There had been weeks at a time when he had stayed in his self-ordered prison, trying to curb the deluge of sound which always threatened to overwhelm him.

The alcohol had been an ease at first, if only a slight one, taking the edge off his mind and relaying him with that sweet, fuzzy feeling which jittered his brain after one too many Faygo's. But the effects wore off quick and were entirely unlike that of the supor slime he was so used to; the cursed drinks made him feel irritable instead of relaxed, and, after a while, burned fire through his mind and throat, leaving his voice raw and his reason clouded over. At least on the supor slime, the blurred thoughts he had were pleasant, like falling each day into a warm dream. The alcohol only made worse the night terrors which clung to him every time he shut his eyes.

In addition, his tolerance had adapted swiftly to this new form of painkiller, his body evolving to accept and flush out the toxins in a way it never had to the slime. He or Karkat had been stealing as much as they could without making their objectives blatantly obvious, but it could only go on for so long, and- after the unruly quantity of booze Gamzee had swiped for last night- it would be no surprise if Rose was on to their game.

Still, it was the only alternative they had found. After six- or seven, was it seven now?- sweeps of emotional dulling, Gamzee was unequipped for the surges of contempt and fear and anger which now often knocked him askew. Karkat was a good help, a base to even out Gamzee's acidic nature, but he couldn't always afford to be around. The mutant blooded troll was still the groups' leader, and despite the momentary peace stasis he still had responsibilities. Though he often tried to downplay the scale of his role to keep flooding Gamzee with guilt, the clown troll could tell that his morial link was stressed beyond belief due to the added work. It wasn't easy, trying to juggle both an insane best friend and keeping together the remnants of the team, and sometimes Karkat couldn't help but slip up and show his weariness.

Of course, when Gamzee asked, his friend was quick to offer reassurances that it wasn't a big deal and no, he wasn't tired and to quit nagging, you paranoid asshat. Karkat always made time for him, even if it meant skipping out on sleep or spending all his free time next to a spasming, shaking body. He never said anything about it or made it into a big deal; he was just there, a constant source of ornery support. That was just the sort of person Karkat was.

Which didn't make Gamzee feel any better about the situation he had forced him into.

It all used to be so easy, almost reverse from this. Gamzee calmed Karkat down during his frequent rages and listened to all his rants, and in return Karkat didn't make comment on Gamzee's blood or food or choice of dress. They talked and joked and- when Gamzee could convince him to- rapped, and everything was perfect.

Gamzee took a left at the familiar fork up ahead, his knees sore from the persistency of his crawling, though he wanted to get someplace warmer than a steel tunnel and hopefully see his morial to talk over what had happened last night. It seemed an impossible dream, now, and Gamzee supposed it sort of was, taking place off the tangible plane, but of course much more important than any late-night hallucination.

After all this time, he had finally managed to talk to him, to apologize.

Equius hadn't wanted to take part in their chat for the longest time, and it was only due to his belief- continued even into death!- that he was to serve the purple-blooded troll, that any conversation grew. Usually Gamzee wouldn't take advantage of such ignorance, as, aside from his own discomfort experienced when dealing with the rigid hemospectrum caste, Gamzee also didn't want to further injure the troll unto whom he had wrought so much damage.

But it was the only way to get him to listen. And listen he did, for near hours, to Gamzee's drunken rambles. The juggalo boy had filled the time with stories of the past and stupid remarks on miracles and the world around them, all the while being far too aware of how Equius's arms were folded across his chest in irritation, the tight clench of his jaw and how he ground his teeth, just waiting for the conversation to be over. The older troll was impatient with him and very angry, and Gamzee knew this and hated it. He had eventually convinced the blue blood to take a sip of alcohol, a feat partly due to persistence but mostly attributed to the bait he had set of the alcohol being _strong_, a word Equius found impossible to ignore.

Gamzee hadn't _quite_ expected such a strong effect- after a mere four shots of Rose's strange concoctions, Equius was down for the count, his eyes glazed over at the diminishing ceiling. He had nearly passed out on top of the juggalo boy, leaving him to deal with the impossible weight of the tall and overpowered troll alone. With his fall, the room- some old workshop from Equius's past- shrank considerably, his mental deterioration swallowing completely the kitchen and with it a majority of the alcohol (though Gamzee didn't see them requiring any more drink in the near future, so he had decided it to be of no matter).

The purple blooded troll hadn't even thought it possible for the dead to fall into the throes of intoxication and, having merely offered the drink out of an awkward attempt to be a polite host, he was definitely caught in surprise. With little else to do, he decided it best to simply lie down beside him- a few feet away, not wanting to intrude so openly on personal space- and drink whatever hadn't disappeared, formulating an apology while waiting for Equius to drag his mind out of the bleary sarcophagus which was alcohol consumption.

It was a decision he since regretted; the speech he'd been planning was lost in the crashing tide of his intoxication, and his remorse was whittled down into a few jumbled words and, even worse, an accusation towards Equius's honesty. An accusation that turned out to be painfully true, but a rude one nonetheless. He felt that if he had just stuck to his original script, which was- by Gamzee's standards- _eloquent_, even, as devoid of swears as possible to make the honorable troll more comfortable, then things might have gone better. They could have gone _well_, even!

But no, he had become nervous in the long stretch of time which was waiting for Equius to wake up, and decided one last glass would ease his nerves. A sound enough plan, had one glass not mutated into two and then three and then who knew how many. Considering his own tolerance, Gamzee figured it likely to have been quite a lot to make him so very open-mouthed.

The dried paint on his face cracked along the edges of his forming frown and he paused, trying to puzzle out from his foggy head the correct course of action. The most considerable thing to do would be leaving Equius alone forever so that he could get on with his ended life and maybe even be happy again, but Gamzee- the sane half, at least- needed to apologize. And even more so, he needed to be forgiven.

The idea of simply never talking to the blue blood ever again, leaving him to prance around through the dream bubbles consorting with a variety of Aradiabots and hating Gamzee with all his (excess) strength? The juggalo couldn't imagine it. There had to be a way to convince Equius of his repentance, make it up to him somehow.

He let his forehead clang against the tunnel wall with a dull thud, ignoring the protesting screech of metal when his horns made contact with the low ceiling. He spent a few minutes like that, the harsh pound behind his eyelids serenading the vents which were now his home, before crawling off in a desperate search to contact his morial.

Equius eventually found the clarity necessary to move his head from the wall and navigate his way outside, wincing at the bright sunlight he stepped into. He found himself standing on one of the sun-drenched beaches from his home world, with its glittering sand and cresting waves, though after the past few hours, what should have been a beautiful scene felt positively garish. With some searching, Equius located his favored pair of cracked sunglasses- they had somehow ended up in his pocket, and he was surprised no further damage had been done to them- and shoved them onto his slick nose.

There, that was better.

Equius rubbed his forehead, trying to puzzle out what had just happened. He now vaguely recalled Gamzee's invitation to drink and talk, as well as his reluctant agreement, which had only taken place after the highbloods wheedling. Come to think of it, Equius supposed that the juggalo troll had been acting awful strange when he first initiated conversation- not that Gamzee was ever anything other than mind-numbingly odd- but it was a particular sort of strange, a different sort.

No longer the dominating power he was when Equius died- their most previous encounter- the troll seemed to have fallen back into his special brand of inanity, crazy way of talking and all. However, even something about that was off. It all seemed almost like a very willful act, as if Gamzee was forcing himself to be what he called normal and others called stoned out of his fried think pan.

Equius wondered if it were some sort of trick. This would not be the first of bait and switches the other troll had pulled, and the strong blue-blood knew he had to be cautious. It had been very silly of him to drink alcoholic beverages around one so clearly his enemy, though he had thought himself to be proving a point; he was dead, and therefore could not get drunk. This was, apparently, false, and thinking back to it Equius found his way of proving its falsehood to be very cringe worthy indeed. Not only did he display the self control of a low-blooded peasant, he had also coloured himself a weakling with no stomach for drink. He had expected to be able to hold down more of the liquor due to his large size and _strong_ nature, and the failure of said hypothesis left him chagrined.

The remembered heat of sand burned deep into the calluses of Equius's bare feet, leaving him to haphazardly wonder why he wasn't wearing shoes, as well as their current location. After a second, he realized that they were likely left back in the room he had just exited, but, upon turning, he found the door to have stopped existing.

That was the tricky thing about dream bubbles; if it was a private memory, as was the snapshot of his basement, it often vanished after the person doing the remembering exited. He could attempt conjuring it once more, but it likely would be completely different, the mind being so faulty and difficult to control. The room had been left in a state of drunken disarray and this did not run congruent with the picture in his minds eye of a basement littered with robotics and snapped bows rather than empty bottles.

It was easier to just return to his hive, where fresh shoes and clothes were always available in the closet, neatly ordered due to the now-passed Arthor's reappearance. Of course, navigating this world was rather difficult, as it was constantly shifting as people moved around, various mental voices clashing and then weaving together. Pieces of Alternia were quilted next to jumbled pockets of various in-game worlds, making it quite a spectacular, but often confusing, sight.

Some things stayed constant; the place where most trolls populated usually evened out to become an average Alternian plot, though with different aspects from each contributor's specific homeland. Most had their hives branching off from this 'mainland', as it was just easier to get and stay in contact that way. However the areas outside the mainland, such as where he was currently, were always swapping out characteristics like puzzle pieces, making it difficult to go very far without becoming lost.

A few of the trolls could conjure doors leading directly to their hives no matter where they were, effectively cinching together a long walk into one step. Unfortunately for the big troll, this skill correlated with psychic powers, a category Equius had never quite fit into. This being, he had to find his way home on foot.

He wondered how he had even managed to make the basement area appear in such a place. Perhaps, in his drunken stupor, his mind relocated the room to the beach? Or had he miraculously created the place of refuge to talk with the high blood in secret? Equius's memory failed to supply a clear answer, the past hours writhing instead to the murkiest depths of his consciousness.

After some struggle the brutish troll found a familiar path and stuck to it, pleased to find himself on the way home. He wished nothing more than to change his shoes and lay down for a while, to think as well as get rid of his pounding headache. The dead could not sleep, but they could pretend to and, sometimes, the remnants of ghostly consciousness could project outwards and fade off into the darkness past the dream bubbles, that vague and frightening area of pitch, though Equius did not prefer this. Despite being a desolate and dark place to reprieve the mind, he found the yawning maw of silence more akin to death than anything he had suffered to this point, and could not let himself evaporate completely without feeling a tinge of fear that he would find himself unable to come back.

Still, he would likely need to perform this if he ever wanted to press away the angry pounding behind his temples, and he would need to accomplish _that_ if he ever wanted to puzzle out both what had happened and why. It seemed odd that, after such a while, Gamzee would suddenly appear to him and apologize, especially in such a compelling way. The juggalo troll had never been one for forcefulness-well, not when drunk- and yet Equius remembered the almost harsh look in his eyes as he demanded the truth.

Equius elected to shove that thought as far away from his mind as possible, as it was making him more than a bit uncomfortable. He was now on the edge of the mainland and, looking as he currently did, he thought it best to get to his hive as fast as possible. The large troll did not appear to be a picture of health, what with his tired eyes and exhausted stance, making it obvious that he had not merely disappeared for a stroll in the park. Despite not wanting to explain himself or the past few hours, Equius could not think of a proper cover, on the off chance anyone asked, and this worried him. Especially if Nepeta found him, for, even if he had a fabrication, he would be unable to lie to her. It would be much easier to make it to his dwellings without any outside interference.

In this mindset, Equius sprinted around the other buildings so haphazardly placed, his strong legs pushing him forward at an even and fast rate. He was surprised to find himself meeting the door with no hassles from his friends, and quickly entered.

His hive was exactly how he remembered it, before the earthquake had smashed in all his belongings. The rooms were pristine and well ordered, thanks to Author, save for where he built and sparred robots. That area was pocketmarked from his various outbursts as well as several mishaps with the creations, but it was blocked off so that no one but him could enter, unless he gave them direct access.

Normally, upon reaching home, the blue blood would immediately rush upstairs to resume whatever project he was working on. Having a lot of time on his hands- and not much to do with it- had facilitated much growth in Equius's experimentations and building. Though the others no longer needed his creations due to their health- or entire lack thereof- he still enjoyed tinkering around in his workshop. At the moment he was playing with the concept of a robot chasis which could work as a bridge between the living and the dead.

Much like the body he had once presented to Aradia, the project was on its most shallow level, a simpler troll system crafted out of metal. However, if his plan worked, a ghost would be able to link their consciousness with the robots and interact with the living on their plain. It built much off the story the Jade human had told him on one of her many journeys in the dream bubbles, of how she once possessed a robot which could act out her dreams as if they were real, with the metal body in the physical world while her mind explored Prospit.

Equius hoped to eliminate the separation between mind and chasis so that, perhaps, the dead could drift off and find themselves, instead of in the abyss, on the asteroid with all their friends. It would be like living again.

It was delusional fancy, and he knew it; Equius was more likely to miraculously revive than achieve this impossibility. However, it was a project he was anxious and passionate about, so it was surprising that he did not immediately leap up the stairs to his workshop. Instead, he wandered to the kitchen, wondering if he could calm his head with a glass of memory lusus milk before heading off for the attempted "nap".

Before he could get there, though, he heard a quiet shuffling in the background, and then a quiet giggle.

"Arseniccatnip springs meowt of her hiding place to attack the unwitting beast!" Equius tilted his body forward just seconds before the blow, allowing her an easy landing and, at the same time, took a step forward to flow with the momentum instead of against it. This was unnecessary. If he so wished, he could have merely stayed upright and let his morial slam into his back with all her force and likely not have moved much more than an inch, such was his strong nature. However, for her that would feel like crashing into a very cruel brick wall, and he didn't want to hurt her.

Also- though he would never admit this, even to himself- his drunken state left him somewhat vulnerable for attack. As it was, he merely allowed Nepeta to cling to his back, instead of rolling her over his shoulders and- gently- tossing her into the air and onto the couch, which was his usual response.

Nepeta seemed to notice this, and purred into his ear, rubbing the side of her face against his dark hair. "Ac notices that the best mewrial in the world seems to be a bit down, and wonders what could pawsibly be wrong?"

"Hello, Nepeta," Equius replied tiredly, a muted contrast to her bright nature. The concern on her face deepened and though she did not stop smiling, she gracefully hopped off his back.

"Equius," Nepeta walked around to face him, forgoing her verbal roleplaying in respect for the somber air. "You smell like alcohol."

The first thing that came to Equius's mind was to immediately demand how she knew the smell of such a low-blooded drink, and then immediately terminate whatever bad influence had caused this. Then he remembered her escapades talking to that Jasper fellow, a friend of Rose's, some sort of reverse-lusus. Seeing as Rose brewed the dastardly concoctions, it would stand to recon that he would have the knowledge to at least educate Nepeta of their scent.

Equius didn't respond to Nepeta's observation, both because he was mulling through the aforementioned thought process, and because he simply did not know what to say.

She smiled up at him, kind and soft, entertaining her small, stubby fingers betwixt his long and regal ones.

"Want to go have a feelings jam meow?" she asked, kindly, giving him the choice though she already knew what his answer would be.

"N- Yes, Nepeta," Equius couldn't help but give a soft smile in return. "I would find that to be most rela%ing."

With that, the morials went off hand-in-hand, and Equius, despite his earlier reluctence to consort with his friends, realized this would have a much more positive effect than any faux naps.


	3. Chapter 3

Karkat stomped down the hall in his usual huff, his face pulled back in an annoyed grimace and his hands clutching a bottle of whatever-the-fuck. His day had turned sour- more so than usual- right around the moment of his near flattening via drunk Lalonde. And, to make things better, after just barely dodging this human missile, she'd stood up, opened her mouth as if to apologize and, in stead, vomited all over his pants.

Of course, this was not the end of his trials. After helping carry the limp girl to a couch, where she could peacefully sleep away her hangover, Karkat had suffered through the romantic tithing of a bemused and slightly put off Kanaya, all the while feeling puke soak through his pant legs and onto his skin. Understandably, he was not happy.

After taking a long and scorching shower, the short troll had made it his goal to steal some sort of payment from the short blonde. Unfortunately, with all of their belongings currently being pooled on this lame excuse for a dwelling and boonbucks having become utterly useless, there was very little for him to steal except for the alcohol which had caused all this.

It did serve a purpose, though, which was keeping his mind-addled moriallegiance from completely popping out of his burnt think pan and continuing his attempt at the hobby of serial killing. And he now had an excuse to go along with it; if Rose did not have the drinks, she could not get mind-numbingly drunk and puke on his favorite pair of pants. Confiscation was a regular and legitimate consequence, he felt. Except she could always alchemize more, making it a moot point. Whatever.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Karkat glanced down at the bottle in his hands and gave a momentary thought to taking a sip. He had tried the substance only once before, at Gamzee's insistence, and had found it to be the most impossibly vile thing he had ever tasted, somehow even more so than the green sludge he used to eat. However, he had heard the proper amount helped with headaches.

Then again, too much apparently caused sleeping and barfing, so he decided to live without.

Karkat made a quick transition from the main room to the web of halls which led to the hidey-hole where he and Gamzee spent most their quality time together. It was a small room, some 8x8 box, but everyone walked past without second thought and it, despite its size, had three vents in the ceiling, giving his morial easy access. The door was lockable, an accessory Karkat had painstakingly alchemized and installed himself, and only he had the key. Gamzee had other, preferred ways of exiting, and this way no one could get in even if they noticed.

Fortunately, locked doors were common, as were broken transportalizers. No one found it as too big a surprise when their attempted exploration yielded nothing, so the headquarters went on unnoticed. Still, it was better safe than sorry; he gave the desolate hall an up-and-down glance before thrusting the key into the lock and entering the room, alcohol cradled under his arm.

There wasn't a lot of furnishings to grace its steel frame, merely a few of Gamzee's essentials, the most noticeable being a large pile of horns, the one that used to rest in the computer room. After all that had happened and what the horn pile had come to represent, he thought it prudent to relocate.

The room also contained a thermal hull and an armchair for Karkat's frequent late nights, and would have seemed completely empty otherwise, if it weren't for the tips of two yellow horns peeking out from amidst the grey pile and the muffled snores and whimpers coming from inside it.

The red-blooded troll sighed. It looked as if Gamzee had pulled another all-nighter. The juggalo had recently been starving himself of sleep, as the voices apparently reared up when his mind went blank. If he could just travel the community dream bubbles instead of living inside his own personal hell, things might be different; sleep could be a welcome rest instead of something to be feared. But him popping in on the souls of a bunch of people he had murdered likely wasn't the safest.

Karkat at first thought it best to let his friend sleep for as long as possible, knowing Gamzee would be unlikely to do so again any time soon. However, the small chirrups of discomfort the morial made in his sleep eventually became too much even for the hard-boiled leader, and he couldn't help but thrust his hand into the horn pile to shake Gamzee awake.

"HEY. ASSHOLE. WAKE UP," Karkat ordered, as politely as he could, which wasn't very polite at all.

Gamzee woke with a start, arms thrashing and scattering the horns in every direction, ignoring the loud squawks from the childish alarms. A great billowing ball of dread expanded in his chest, blocking out the air from his lungs and the thought from his mind. It was the sort of clawing terror that beaded sweat on his forehead and left his eyes wide, energy unraveling with whiplash through his veins. In his panic he latched on to the thing nearest to him, Karkat's arm, and his long bony fingers were like a vise around the red blood's wrist, desperately yanking him closer. The fear in the juggalo's eyes startled even his morial, though not enough to deter him from his job.

Karkat's hand settled upon Gamzee's cheek and, as if it were a sedative for the purple blood, he calmed almost immediately, eyelashes dimming his sight as they half closed, adrenaline extorted and now fading from his breath.

He chuckled in that infamously unhinged way. "SoRrY, kArBrO. dIdN't MeAn To ScArE a MoThErFuCkEr." Gamzee let out a long breath, and his morial could smell the traces of stale booze in his breath. He wondered how long it had been since Gamzee's last drink, and guessed a couple hours at the most.

And yet he already had to fight back those careening, wild voices in his head, the thrashing, murky monsters. Karkat feared for him.

"IT'S FINE," he replied, after a moment. "GET YOUR SORRY ASS OUTTA THAT HORN PILE, THOUGH. EVERY TIME YOU MOVE THEY GO OFF AND IT'S OBNOXIOUS."

"RiGhT-oH, bRoThEr," the purple-blooded troll replied, weary, but managing one foot on the ground before stumbling forward into Karkat's arms. The shorter trolled grimaced, doing his best to support someone so much taller than him and mostly failing.

It took a few lunging steps to cross to the armchair, and then another stuttering half-fall to get Gamzee to sit. When he did collapse, it was in a final sort of manner, all sprawled out like a broke doll, and Karkat knew it was unlikely he would move very far for the rest of the day.

"ALRIGHT, YOU HAD BETTER TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON," Karkat pried mercilessly, because he knew Gamzee wouldn't just offer up the information, and he knew he couldn't help until the information was offered.

His friend looked up at him, face smeared with makeup and eyes the colour of exhaustion, the sort of dull that belonged more on a corpse than a living, breathing being. Karkat bit back a tide of guilt and worry, the two feelings having become synonymous as of late.

It pained Karkat to know that he couldn't constantly be there for his friend, to know that he left him here for hours on his own with only a horn pile and drinks to keep him comfort, with only the briefest of reprises in between. But he couldn't just _leave_; the others still depended on him. And what if their leader was gone for too long and they struck out looking for him, and found what they sought? They would tear Gamzee to pieces.

It was so much easier back when the purple blooded troll was just a crazy little fuckball who danced too much and smiled too easy, back when he was a pleasant nuisance. Karkat felt instantly terrible for thinking such things, for wishing to change someone so dear to him, but it was true. What was he to think, with his morial morphing suddenly and irrevocably, just as the world crashed around his ears?

"COME ON," Karkat prompted half because Gamzee had yet to start speaking and half because he couldn't stand the thoughts in his own head. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

Reluctance clouded over Gamzee's face, and he wondered if returning to talk with Karkat had been the solution after all. Sometimes things were simply too severe or confusing or blindingly stupid to confess even to the best of friends. There was this sick churn of guilt at the idea of admitting it, of telling his morial that he had done something as utterly idiotic as this. Even he knew how ridiculous it was of him to go, and he didn't want his best friend to be disappointed in him.

As it ended up, he never got the chance to. Karkat came to the realization on his own, either by the strange look on his morial's face or the lingering stench of sweat still clinging to his skin. It seemed so utterly impossible that he almost wanted to laugh, but then;

"WAIT. WAIT, YOU DIDN'T. EVEN YOU AREN'T SO STUPID AS TO…" Karkat paused; watching as Gamzee's face slowly sloped to form deep creases on his forehead and on the bridge of his nose, frustration and sorrow only managing to mess up the words playing round in his head, those frantic screams.

Karkat was aware of the pain Gamzee's mind caused him, the revolution his grey matter had struck, but he was not living through it. How was he to know the sheer amount of will the purple blood used just to keep from standing up and striking? Even though the subject was his best friend, his moriallegiance, the sort of pale romance that meant a wavering dance of infallible support- even then, he heard those little voices that this was his calling, to cull. Cull this motherfucking low blood, teach him respect, teach him that _no one_ talked like that to Gamzee fucking Ma—

"GAMZEE." All of a sudden he became aware of the hands on his shoulders, the shake in them, and the fear in the eyes only inches away from his own. The thin troll blinked, his elongated figure trembling slightly under the pressure of his mind.

"sorry. didn't mean to scare a brother," His voice was a darkened hush, the remnants of drink wearing off. The volume spiked as he started talking again, almost as if he were about to apologize but instead spiking off to a near accusation. "THIS ISN'T SOMETHING—sOmEtHiNg I cAn HeLp."

Karkat didn't say anything, preferring to simply curl an arm around his friends shoulder and pull him close, into a tight hug, only reluctantly returned. The stocky troll knew that, behind him, Gamzee's eyes were wide and unblinking, reflections of chaos. There was very little he could other than be there, hold him and try his best to silence the mind-wrenching terror.

"HOW ABOUT," Karkat offered after a moment. "WE GO FIX YOUR MAKEUP OR SOME SHIT LIKE THE LITTLE GRUBBITCHES WE ARE, OKAY?"

There was a darkening in the purple blood's eyes before he answered, and a heaviness that pressed his forehead hard into his short friend's shoulder.

"sure, motherfucker." It was the hesitation before the small, whispered voice that made Karkat worry that his friend might be disappearing forever.

Nepeta's hive smelled like salt and the burn of red iron, both substances engrained in the clay cave walls. The ceilings were low and the light little, causing long shadows to be cast across the room, anchoring it in a soft sheave of silence. Many before had found it creepy, with its muted air and looming darkness, but it acted as a balm to Equius's burnt up think pan, quietly soothing the grey matter locked between his ears.

The feelings jam room was located in Nepeta's hive for many reasons, the main one being that Equius was liable to have broken everything in it if it was in his, as well as litter it with robot parts. The room was nearly empty- Nepeta had insisted there be no distractions from serious discussions- with nothing but one measly end table and a gigantic bean bag dominating the floor space like some monstrous, amoebic creature. It was an old furnishing, with splitting seams and tufts of wild stuffing here and there, but it was warm and soft and smelled, somehow, like home. While waiting for Nepeta to fix them drinks- she didn't want anything accidentally broken by her friend's strong nature- Equius almost fell drifted off into the dark.

He was jogged out of this quasi-sleep by Nepeta's setting down the two glasses of lusus milk, and then jumping on the bean bag with reckless abandon. The impact caused a great dent where she landed, nearly enveloping her in the fuzz, and stuffing took to the air. She grinned at the dopey-eyed Equius, her sharp canines glinting in the murky lighting.

"AC snuggles up on CT's lap," Nepeta dictated her actions. Her small fingers clasped his thick wrist, a sapling to a tree trunk, and she carefully guided his hand to her messy black locks. "CT pets AC's head fur, and she begins to purr."

He smiled down at her, bemused and fond. There was very little subtlety, but that was something he enjoyed about Nepeta. There weren't any guessing games between the two, just honesty and trust. He did as she asked, stroking her hair and straining to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to hurt her. In return, a deep rumble began in the hollow of her throat, just as she had promised.

"AC wonders what happened to make her mewrial so appurrehensive," Nepeta intoned softly, the question hidden blatant in the soft fold of her words.

Equius hesitated. He wasn't worried about Nepeta's reaction, just more confused on what he was to say. Thankfully, she did not pressure him, closing her eyes and letting him take his time, her soft purring putting him at ease.

Eventually, he simply said it. "The high b100d came to talk with me."

At his words, Nepeta sat up, just barely missing his chin with her cranium. The bridge of her nose crinkled in concern, and she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, as if making sure he was physically alright. It was not an uncalled for gesture; the last time Gamzee and Equius met, the latter had died.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" She could not help but allow creeping vines of poisoned acrimony to curl and choke around her voice, striping her words bright green. The very thought of Gamzee brought an intense hatred to her mind, and far from the romantic sort. If there was the possibility, she would have long since brought about his death. That he was now once again bringing misfortune to her morial was unacceptable.

"No, Nepeta," Equius calmed her with his response and a gentle hand clasping her wrist. "I am unharmed."

"Well- what the hell could he want?"

"Nepeta! Such 100d language will not be tolerated."

The girl's small green mouth twisted up into a grimace. Now was hardly the time for a lecture- but she knew he'd deliver one anyway. Equius stuck by his morals, at least.

"Fine, sorry. But really, what'd he want?"

Her morial let go of her wrist, clasping his thin pianists fingers together into a basket weave. Nepeta had always thought his long, delicate hands looked odd in comparison to his bulk, though the thin phalanges spoke much more of his true person than any muscle. Lithe and elegant to a fault; strong, but easily broken by A properly placed blow.

"He merely wanted to talk," Equius explained, talking into the tent of his fingers. "To apologize, actually. It was very odd."

"But after so long… why meow?"

"I am not sure," Equius responded to her quiet wonderings. "He was into%icated at the time. Perhaps that is the reason."

Nepeta twitched her nose in distaste, her tail beginning to thrash an agitated, uneven rhythm. "How'd you respawnd?"

She couldn't stand the idea of Equius outright forgiving the heinous crimes of the purple-blood, all because of some stupid hierarchy. It would only add insult to the injury of their deaths, and that the twist of the proverbial knife came from her best friend would be overwhelming.

"At first, I said I forgave him. I do not, but anything otherwise would be a debasement of his power," He added, attempting a defense as he noticed the glint of frustration and something near betrayal in Nepeta's eyes.

"Wait- at furst? What happened aftpur?"

Equius's lips formed a slight grimace, the pale skin between his heavy eyebrows creasing in confusion. He still hadn't figured out the meaning of the next part. "He asked me if I was abso100tely positive, and told me to be honest. Since the high b100d commanded it, I was, and told him no, I did not forgive him."

"That's all?" Nepeta peered at his face, perhaps trying to discern whether or not he was lying. Equius nodded, feeling unusually secretive about the high blood's promise to return. A foolish decision, when it involved meeting with a man so disliked and unpredictable; Equius knew this, but kept silent all the same.

"Okay," Nepeta agreed after a pause, her keen feline eyes cutting straight through the marrow of his lie. "But if he tries to appurroach you again, I would ignore him. He's dangerous, Eq."

"I am aware, Nepeta," Equius said stiffly, feeling that same rise of atrocious racism- he was to give the orders, not the other way around- yet oddly running parallel to a pang of guilt. Perhaps he should have told her; the little green blood was his morial, after all.

It was too late now, as the cat-like troll had once again curled up with the majority of her torso on his lap, emitting a small, ruffled purr from deep inside her throat. The sound eased his still ringing head, and he returned to gently stroking her hair, wary of his strength as to not hurt her. It didn't matter; Equius told himself, that he was keeping secrets, for he would not be contacting the high blood again. Gamzee had ended his life, so he deserved no place in his death.

**Whoa, hey, a chapter where things actually happen? Unheard of.**

**Next chapter will actually involve Equius and Gamzee talking. Gasp, story progression? What is this strange stuff**


	4. Chapter 4

It had been two weeks. Fourteen days full of restless pacing, of wearing down marks into the carpet of his small hide-away. Three hundred and thirty-six hours of stolen liquor, of pinched noses and just-do-it gulps, of pacification that left him anything but calm. Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes of dry heaving and shaking, of mind-crushing with drawl, of writhing soberness and the voices which came with it. One million, two hundred nine thousand, and six hundred seconds of empty stares and wonderings, of impossible daydreams filled with delectable shades of blue, of head-scratching conundrums, of no sleep, of insanity. Two weeks.

No matter what unit was used to measure, it all added up to the same; an insufferable amount of time. In all this time Gamzee had thought of little other than his encounter with the long-haired troll, becoming obsessed over analyzing each separate minute as if he could somehow rearrange the jigsaw puzzle to make whatever picture he wanted to see. The pieces, however, were preset and determined, and they did not fit anything other than the truth.

Equius hated him. It was the only real answer; Gamzee had killed both the blue blood and his moriallegiance, and then come back for an afternoon which had ended in an intoxicated disaster. All this wasn't even mentioning the disgust the troll had harbored for him even before the game. And, despite Gamzee's cautious thoughts on the matter, it was obvious the blue blood was not waxing black for him; this was not the sort of hatred which ended in sloppy make outs. The Sagittarius was angry, a wrath which could easily end in trolls being killed- in fact, if it weren't for Nepeta and the caste system, Equius might have culled him already- and there was little to debunk this knowledge.

But Gamzee did not want this to be the truth. He denied it, over and over, trekking back to those few caught hours and attempting once again to rearrange a completed puzzle. Each time he got the same answer, and each time he hated himself more for it. Equius deserved anything from Gamzee, and Equius wanted silence. The purple blooded troll knew he should simply give up his selfish yearning in favor for the only half-decent option.

Even Karkat had agreed, mostly because he knew it was dangerous for his friend to return. Normally, the mutant blood wouldn't give a shit about making his now dead comrades feel uncomfortable, especially the brutish Sagittarius who had so often talked down to him, but Gamzee's life could be at stake here. Karkat wasn't sure whether the dead could kill the living in a dream bubble- perhaps only if they were physically in it?- but he was aware that they could be affected. Equius loathed Gamzee, had a foul temper, and could easily do some damage to the purple blood if he wanted to. Riling him up any further was a death wish.

Yet there Gamzee was, like an insufferable, insensitive prick, cursing and mumbling to himself as he clumsily crept through the tunnels, searching for a way into the dream bubble that avoided any unsavory figures. Difficult, but doable, so long as Gamzee kept his head; unfortunately, he wasn't quite achieving that last part.

Each wrong turn or blockade sent anger and frustration reeling through his limbs, fogging up his already intoxicated mind. The harlequin troll was completely unable to relax, despite the copious amount of alcohol intake. How much had he drunk today? He could not remember, but it was, apparently, not nearly enough to keep him sated. Muscle and bone ground against each other in the most intolerable way, making him feel as if he would soon split his skin wide and become a screaming, furious whirlwind through the meteor. He needed to find a motherfucking exit right motherfucking now.

Just as his hands began to shake from the intolerable impediment, he found what seemed to be a functioning door. It would likely take him far from where he wanted to be- near Equius's dream bubble hive- but anything was better than wandering around aimlessly in the vents, wondering if he'd be able to even find an entrance before the meteor exited the memories, never mind talk to the blue blooded troll.

This assumption was correct; the ground his bare feet came to grace was no where near the main land where the Equius of his timeline- the only important Equius, in Gamzee's mind- resided. It was, instead, a haunted land of burning sand and tortured, twisted wind, pulling echoes of distant sounds in their wake and stretching them out until even the most jovial of sound became a scream.

As unforgiving the heat and air, it was oddly peaceful. There was something comforting about the particles of white hot dirt engraining in his feet, a nostalgic pain which reminded him he was alive. Gamzee had lived near the ocean all his life and periodically visited the shores edge and- while there was no water here- the sand's remembered heat reminded him of home even as it scalded his toes. Furthermore, the shrieks and wails were not so at all, actually originating from the wild packs of hoof beasts racing in herds under the sun. The sound was no less spooky but now easily romanticized by the deranged troll, who made a foolish, inward promise to someday take Equius here, if he would ever tolerate going.

Eventually his feet hit clay, a reddish-pink due to the oxidized iron among it, greeting the welcomed sight of something somewhat familiar. He had been here before, on his way to- or from? Gog, he could not remember for the life of him- his confrontation with Equius. It took a while longer- more than it should have- for him to find the mainland from there, due to his navigational tactics relying on miracles instead of good sense. But he did find it, a relief which poured calm down his spinal cord, branching along his nervous system to finally rest in his bones. More than alcohol or naps or even Karkat's angry presence, the knowledge that he was only minutes away from Equius sated Gamzee.

Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual, bringing the Capricorn to face his next dilemma; how he was to get inside. The Sagittarius's hive originally sat high atop a cliff and, while it now rested firmly on the ground, there were no back doors. Gamzee supposed he could break a window, but doubted this would be the best tactic in mending Equius's view of him. Instead he decided to simply go around back and pound on the glass, fixing his face into the usual dopey smile. Didn't want Equius thinking he was in a bad mood.

It was Author who answered, both relieving Gamzee of the fear of outright shunning as well as irritating him, for it meant he had to wait to see the blue blood. In one fluid, knowledgeable motion, the butler flicked the window open, as if expecting these antics from one dressed so oddly. It struck as both generous and slightly contemptuous, as though the lusus knew what needed to be done and didn't mind doing so, but was looking down upon the purple-blooded troll the entire time.

Ignoring it, Gamzee placed his palms on the window pane, plastic biting into his hands as he hoisted himself up and in, falling to the ground with a disheveled thump. Though Author did not offer him any help in standing, he did wait for the mentally pained boy with that same look, crossed between kindness and conceit. A dark voice in the very back of his cranium ordered him to smack it off, and though Gamzee did his best to forget it quickly, it did not completely disappear. He had long ago become salty at that look, the pitying and deprecating smile, as if he were no more than a grub. Those who did not know of his power, his _birthright_, those with the audacity to stare at him in such a way; they were so foolish, and he would prove them foolish. He would—

Gamzee closed his eyes, breathed deep, and opened them. The action did little to uproot the weeds currently choking his mind, but the bite of cleansing air at his nostrils kept him from flying completely off the handle. He needed a drink, a stiff flow of suppressants to combat the trembling, snapping feel in his nerves. But for now, all he had was the intoxicatingly rich aura of Equius's hive.

So far, Gamzee's experience of the blue-blood's home had been restricted to a singular room, so it came as a shock to see what lay past those basement doors. Compared to the dingy room where they had spent their last visit, everything was sparkling clean- mostly, Gamzee guessed, due to Author's interference. The only discrepancies in this pattern were the piles and piles of scrap metal and half-finished projects, things Author had been banned from moving in the fear of loss. But even those were beautiful, great twisted statues of broken and useless materials lining the walls, scaling the walls by sheer number, a wonderful sort of trash. Whether this miracle design was due to Author's organizational genius or just by the fierceness of the inventions, Gamzee did not know, and nor did he care. The creations so enraptured him, the centaur-like lusus was forced to utter a soft and dignified cough to realign his attention before guiding him down the hall.

Shuddering thumps began to resound through the juggalo's ribcage and cranium, sending uncomfortable shivers through the dark marrow and blood he contained. From nervousness he began to rock from heel to heel, feeling as if his feet cornered the two edges of the world, swinging him back and forth on a gravitational pendulum. At the end of the hall, up the stairs and to the right, behind the door he now stood in front, was an intoxication far more powerful than any human chemicals. Gamzee was not equipped to face it. He quailed, shuddered, and thought to run; but Makara's had never been known for a tendency to retreat.

Author knocked and gained a grunt in response, the blue blood far too busy to waste time on words. The door swung open at his half hearted invitation, with the centaur standing straight in the doorway to block any sort of passage; Equius looked up, the question in his eyes as cool the colour of his blood. He was standing in front of his work table with wires and tools unceremoniously strewn around him, wrench in hand, oil painting his face and disheveled work shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin, and for good measure he had a towel wrapped around his shoulders, the physical exertion and long hours of work necessitating a good drying every thirty minutes or so. His sunglasses- unneeded for work but still worn anyhow, as it was his way- had slipped down by the sweat of his nose, allowing Gamzee a glimpse of pure white eyes.

For a moment the gaze was mutual and vacant, though the purple blooded could not miss the slight agitated tensing in his jaw. Fear struck him- Karkat had lectured him on the dangers of meeting with Equius, and Gamzee had known them already- and he took a half step back, a stagger, gravity shifting to the sharpened edges of the world once more.

The blue blood blinked, slight shame sprinkling blue across his face, interrupting the irritation there. "I apologize," he muttered after a second. "I had not meant to startle you."

Nepeta's words edged the brute's consciousness, her direction to turn Gamzee out if he ever attempt reestablishing contact, but his nature implored ignoring them. Nepeta, though an impeccable morial, was no high blood. She did not understand things of duty or hierarchy, the responsibility subordinates had to yield and obey. As much as he disliked the troll, as heinous his crimes, Equius had no choice but to entertain him.

Gamzee felt much relief when Equius spoke, ordering Author to show the high blood to the foyer and put on some tea- a subtle indication that there would be no alcohol or Faygo or any other tawdry drink. They were to leave him so that he could clean up, Equius ordered, and Author did just that, closing the door with a quiet _clink_ before ushering the unwelcomed guest down the hall.

He walked the short ways to the foyer as if crossing a tightrope. He did not throw his arms out for balance, but the wobble in his walk showed care and fear as if at any moment he might misstep and smash his way through three layers of dirt and dream. The long-haired troll noticed this, opening the door a crack and peering out in a covert and curious way; he couldn't help himself. There was no reason for Gamzee to return, and yet he did so anyway, and was trying so hard to be gentle and meticulous about it, cradling the encounter as if it were a broken baby bird in his shaking hands. But Equius knew the maniac was far too gone to keep his mind solely on the safety of the animal; eventually that fist would ball in rage and goodbye, little chick.

The blue blood closed the door again, leaning his back against its chilled surface and trying to puzzle out what in the heck he was supposed to do now. The troll who had murdered him was sitting in his foyer, drinking tea, and Equius looked like a piece of trash with a stained shirt and old pants and was spending his time thinking about _birds, _for Gog's sake. The thought almost made him laugh, it was so uncompromisingly ridiculous.

He found a towel and shoved his face into the white mesh, ignoring the rough fibers because he had not time for gentleness, because he was bewildered and tired and could not ignore the nagging guilt about him having let Gamzee into his house despite Nepeta's several warnings. Perhaps they were misguided, the colour of her blood leading her mind awry, but she was still his morial and he did not want to upset her.

Then, sometimes it was just the lesser of two evils. Much akin to when he had forbidden her from playing on the incorrect team, when this all started; she had been upset, but it was better for her, and eventually she had gotten over it. As such, entertaining the high blood rather than turning him away was the proper thing to do, the better thing for Equius- and, therefore, Nepeta- and so he felt it proper to ignore her advice.

He switched shirts and pants and cautiously entered the hall, doing his best to disregard the snarls of thought. It was far too late for any second guessing, him having already let the high blood into his home. Changing his mind and turning the boy away would be such a show of defiance it made Equius uncomfortable thinking about it, almost to the point that he required toweling off again- no, the most he could do now was make any conversation as concise as possible.

Gamzee was sitting in the foyer, as expected, sprawled like some oversized doll on the couch, all long legs and bad manners. The curls of his hair had, if possible, gotten wilder, leading Equius to theorize that they had not been brushed out even once in the two weeks since he had last seen them. Wild eyes met sheltered ones, and a dopey grin cracked through the reapplied paint on Gamzee's face, the peaks of his teeth appearing under greyed lips.

"Hello, high b100d." Equius said politely, sitting in his straight and proper way in the arm chair across from Gamzee, their postures making humorous contrast.

"HeY, eQuIbRo," Gamzee seemed perfectly content despite the obvious disparity in Equius's tone, though the organs under his ribcage were gnawing angrily at his middle. He could not think, wraiths were in his head, and he had nothing to dim them with except this shitty tea. It was all he could do to force his voice to jumble, to sound safe and intoxicated like it should.

There was a careful silence between them, Equius with his anticipation to end the encounter, and Gamzee with his fear that if he started to speak his voice would turn and all those disgusting words would pool from his lips. It was the Sagittarius who finally began, beginning his words with a gentle clearing of the throat.

"So, high b100d, what is your business here?" Equius felt a flash of discomfort, realizing how rude that had come across- one did not simply demand answers of their superior- but it was too late now, and Gamzee didn't seem to mind either way.

"JuSt ChEcKiN' uP oN a BrOtHeR," Gamzee replied, ignoring the shudder in his chest. Each word was a battle, him peering out of the inky dark of his mind and attempting to evaluate what it meant through a mile of white noise, holding on to the conversation by the skin of his teeth. He could feel it building, all that noise up there. "tHoUgHt We CoUlD tRy GeTtIn OuR cOnVeRsInG oN, sInCe LaSt TiMe EnDeD aLl AbRuPt lIkE."

Equius wouldn't mind if this one ended the same. Gamzee's words felt like a thinly veiled threat, loose beads of frustration rolling around in a wooden bowl. "Of course," he ventured, casting the thought a side. "How thoughtful of you."

The purple blooded troll did not know how to take this. It was obvious by the lilt in his voice that the compliment was false, not meant to mock but to assuage with an outright fabrication. The broken parts of him wanted to bludgeon the indigo blood's skull against the table, watch skin and glass shatter alike. And Gamzee nearly gave into this; he could see himself doing it, grabbing Equius and forcing his head into the smooth surface, feel the stretch in his muscles from the physical exertion. He'd need the strength to do it fast- without the advantage of surprise, Equius would easily beat him.

But parallel to how angry the comment made him was how the cool velvet of the blue blood's voice wrapped, dark and calm, around Gamzee's head, containing the sharp edges inside. If it weren't for this miracle, Gamzee wasn't so sure he wouldn't have done just as his blood insisted.

The cheerful boy, the shell of one, grabbed the threads of that indigo sarcophagus, attempting to hold a damn together with hands far too weak for the flood outside. He could feel the pressure, how it slowly worked its way up along the perimeter of his man-made barrier, eating away with precision at the dregs of alcohol until at last he was left standing with nothing but a handful of strings, watching the dark pour down.

"Would you like more tea?" Equius asked, because the high blood's glass was empty and it was the proper thing to do. The juggalo troll shook his head, careful and slow, eyes half lidded. He looked dark and tired, the half end of a storm when the night sky looked either ready to tear open or peter into grey. The blue blood quietly hoped for the second.

He was wrong; the dam broke, it hit him all at once, this sudden smash of blinding rage he had for so long been holding off and _no_, he did not want any more of this shit tea, did not want any of this thinly veiled contempt, nor feeling of utter worthlessness, of being trash. Two bony hands, fingernails gnawed and unkempt, dug into the flowered upholstery of Equius's chair, and Gamzee's teeth clenched hard around the vile words caged behind them.

The troll hadn't expected it to be so quick or harsh; burned and stung, he bit with a decompressing hiss onto his tongue, slicing open the thick muscle and tasting the violence of his blood. He stood, sitting quiet and good having become impossible, but found merely standing there to be more impossible still. The purple blooded troll could no longer look at Equius and his irritation and judgment, could no longer look at anything at all without the risk of breaking it. His long legs found their way around the couch, using the shake of his hand on the fabric as a guide, tight roping his way to the wall. Each movement was carefully guarded and fearful, as if this breath might be the one that broke, this step might be the one which turned, this twitch of the hand might be the one to strike.

"High b100d?" It was Equius, with his cool voice, filling up with a cross of worry and fear but Gamzee didn't answer- he couldn't answer- and the dark velvet did nothing for him now.

It sloshed around his shoulders, the rage, filling up his ears and eyes and nose and mouth until he could not see or breathe or think, could not do anything but stutter and drown and succumb. He needed to break something, to smash the world to tiny pieces and work this feeling of panic from his body, to imbue this pain on something- anything- else. Gamzee was breathing under water and the compression in his lungs curled tight, grasping trachea and bronchioles alike, twisting his diaphragm into a tight knot. Everything was far too loud, too violent, a writhing mass of pain and disgust. He could not move of function; even the effort of breathing was far too much for him, and his mouth opened like a fish to gasp at air that would not come. It all needed to stop; stop moving, stop speaking, stop breathing- the world needed to stop and it wouldn't stop and everything just got louder and louder and he simply wanted to buckle in on himself and disappear.

This was withdrawal.

**Well that was abrupt.**

**Whoa, though; actual plot points? Interaction between the two main characters? What are these odd inventions?**

**But in all seriousness, the story is beginning to pick up! Thank you to those who reviewed, and I hope you enjoy, or continue to~!**


	5. Chapter 5

Hands and horns found the wall; knees, the ground. A purple creeper veined its way out the corner of his mouth, finding home on his chin before dripping down neck and clavicle. His head was clearing, that fresh rebuke, each breath shot through with a pound. Not moving was painful, all this hatred and panic and grinning, dislocated insanity burning up his marrow; he wanted to strain his muscles beating in the face of that snide blue eyed prick sitting behind him. He would grab the troll's one good horn and crash his face into the wall, or the window, knock him to the ground like the pathetic grub he was. _Oh_, the things he could do with this troll's blood, of such a vibrant hue! What masterpieces he could make; great long rivers and skies the colour of burrowing winter, deep oceans scorched dark with nobility.

Gamzee dug his fingernails into the wall, splintering off chunks of keratin and plaster, mingling a deep purple with the dust. He had to keep control of himself- he had come here to _apologize_- but there were such angry words in his mind and he could not breathe and he just wanted to kill the motherfucker all over again, if only to make this feeling go away.

"High b100d?" The Sagittarius crouched carefully next to the troll, bewilderment playing over his face. "Are you feeling unwell? Do you require assistance?"

In response, Gamzee let out a tiny whimper, because the only other option would have been a ruthless, vulgar onslaught of insults pouring in Equius's direction. He had to constantly remind himself that he did not want to do Equius harm, that his prerogative was to do the exact opposite, but even in his broken state Gamzee knew he was losing the battle. Eventually the remnants of his mind would also escape; he would snap completely and attack. He knew he should vacate now, but was terrified that if he moved, he'd end up striking out. The purple blood beat his bloodied fingers on the wall, distracting himself with the ferocity and pain of the movement.

"H-high b100d! I implore you to stop that—you're bleeding!"

"no _shit _im mother fucking bleeding," Gamzee could not help but speak. "YOU MOTHER FUCKING SCUMBLOOD IDIOT"

Despite this break in his speech, Gamzee did not attack, instead smashing his fist into the walls once more, clenching the mortar with bony fingers and crushing it until there was nothing more than violet-tinged dust.

Equius could not stand to see this troll in such a state. After all Gamzee's transgressions, many would simply kick his insane ass to the curb and be done with it, but Equius felt bound not only by his role as someone of a lesser caste, as well as simple common decency. He could not in good consciousness sit by and allow another troll to commit such atrocities unto themselves. Broken teeth twisted into a grimace, and he began to sweat from the pressure; this was a high-risk operation, and the Sagittarius did not want to be the one to blame for the purple blood's final descent into madness.

"Gamzee," Equius attempted, feeling completely out of place using a superior's name, but calling him _high blood_ only spurred him on. "Gamzee, it is e%tremely important you calm down."

He tried to make his voice low and soothing, a soft purr to assuage Gamzee's mind- as Nepeta so often did for him- but could not help the unsure waver in his tone. Either way, the juggalo troll did not respond, merely tightening his grip on the already pulverized plaster. The pathetic whine in the blue blood's voice was beginning to annoy him, that thick shade of annoyance that left his hands shaking even as they ground up more dust.

Nothing Equius was saying seemed to work, and he was beginning to worry, not only for Gamzee's safety but his own. The Capricorn seemed to be unraveling even worse this time, pulling apart at the seams by refusing the purpose his soberness gave him. Hesitantly, fearfully, the brutish troll stretched out a sweating hand and placed it lightly against Gamzee's shoulder.

"Gamzee, pl-"

He realized his mistake immediately, but it was far too late. The other troll went absolutely rigid, spine snapping to stiff and eyes beaming wide and crazed. Gamzee flung his arm out, roughly shoving Equius to the ground.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME YOU MOTHER FUCKING GUTTERBLOOD" Gamzee screamed this, his face furrowing into a garish mask of rutted harlequin makeup, transforming from comical to grotesque. The movement felt like a triumph, from the slam of Equius's spine on the hardwood flooring to the fearful expression on the blue-blood's face; finally, the motherfucker had stopped looking at him with such raging contempt.

The wraiths in his mind were telling him to continue, to splatter rich indigo across the walls and windows, to make an _example_ of him- again. And he knew that Equius would allow it, because of the filth that ran through his veins, lacking a proper royalty. The thought curled his fist and widened his smile, tooth and claw biting into skin and releasing the purple underneath. He wanted the blue blood to see his insanity, to cower, but Equius didn't cower so much as he simply stared, eyes white and wide and yet somehow still _calm_, as contemptuous as ever despite being afraid. Rage flashed through him; his crazed smile widened, his fist rose, and- for the first time, Equius flinched.

Redirecting the blow into the window beside him took all of his willpower. It resounded, a harsh, starch cacophony, glass cracking under fist, but it reminded him why he was here in the first place; to build, not destroy. The purple blood grunted, and hit it again, apparently satisfied when the material gave way, shattering around his fingers. Glass rained down like shiny shards of water, hitting the pavement outside with a musical clatter. It pleased him, the noise, and how it cut into his skin as he broke it, as if the world was fighting back. Blood dripped down his hand and on to the floor, but he paid it no heed, instead raising his arm for yet another attack.

Thin fingers found his wrist, caught hold, pulling it back to a shuddering stop. In return, a growl was released, low and feral and pitching into a long whine as Gamzee turned to face his aggressor. Great howls of rage ripped through his mind and he curled himself around them as if he could block out the noise with his own body as a barricade, but it built until he was screaming.

"let me go you mother fucker let me go LET ME MOTHERFUCKING GO" And his unrestrained hand curled and hit, smacking into Equius's chest repeatedly. The Sagittarius did not heed his orders, simply allowing the blows to rain down on his chest. He was perspiring, slightly, but this was more due to his encroaching of the caste order than any physical stress; he reached out, careful still, and took Gamzee's other arm as his own.

"I apologize, high b100d," the word sent prickles all through Gamzee's mind, but Equius did not notice or remember the damage he was doing. "But I could not allow you to injure yourself. I will need to clean up your hand before you leave."

There was a certain anger which shone through over all, a great rage that had him smashing down on Equius's shoulder with fever, shoving up against him, struggling to be free. The movement was a leech, and an obvious one, eyes bordering exhaustion and Gamzee felt sick. He was coming down from this crazed broken high and he felt disgusting and sober and mostly sick. Just as the sudden rising of agitation and fear crashed down about him, so did this fatigue, rendering him useless. His fingers turned to birds, tossing feathers light and helpless from their capture, little necks broken by Equius's firm fist.

"I apologize." This is his mantra, continually said as he carefully tugged Gamzee up the stairs and down the long hall, half guiding and half shoving him into the bathroom. The juggalo's head lolled, blood still curling from his lip where he bit hard enough to leave a gash, a small purple dribble on Equius's grey skin. It evoked another apology, as if Equius has any right to be giving them, as if this was in any way his fault. The Capricorn's stomach lurched and he toppled easy, falling down next to an abolition trap- bathtub, Equius called it, hating low blood slang- and heaved shitty tea and stale alcohol into it.

For a second there was nothing but the porcelain under his engraved palms and the vomit forcing the way out of his mouth as if there was a fist pressing into his stomach like the glass biting further still into his injured hands.

But then, a cool touch on his back, a drifting gossamer he could barely feel through his shirt, hesitant at first but then circling, an attempted comfort.

And, behind it all, "I apologize." Two soft whispered words he heard and grimaced at but did not reply to. His head dipped forward and fogged up. Warm fingers of some skeleton curled up into the skin of his esophagus but the hand on his back kept tracing in between his shoulder blades and he did not choke.

He remembered being lifted carefully and gently, despite the weak fists he flailed and smacked in yet another futile attempt to gain release. Equius placed him on a couch in his room- this one was sleek and dark, striking a chord of contrast from the one in his foyer- a broken empty vessel of a drunk, all cracking up on the inside. His messiahs whispered to him and he continued to attack, until the brutish troll finally pinned both his wrists under one thin hand, forcing stability.

In this position, with Equius kneeling on the carpet beside him, he went through his first episode without Karkat there to help him. There were numerous offerings to get the red blooded troll, but Gamzee was in no way to answer, and there was no one to fetch his morial anyway. The one who was looking after him was a shadow shy of his usual caretaker, awkward and sweating and thoroughly unsure of what to do.

Eventually, Equius settled for tending to the lacerations all along the juggalo's hands, carefully picking out shard after shard of glass with meticulous, long fingernails. There were other pieces, little grits and scraps that Equius could not dig out and were left for another time. This was done in utter silence, with Gamzee hacking and trembling, the shake of his fingers making it a messy job. By the time he was finished, Equius's fingers were shaded purple.

The time had seemed to diffuse him. The Capricorn had cut his safety lines of alcohol and plunged off a cliff to sanity, and the force of it had him resorting to monsters. They clenched his innards and pulled them up tight, out his mouth alongside the screams, and in this fear he had clawed blindly at those stoned sides- but now he had hit bottom, bleeding out on the rocks. Painful, but at least calm for now.

"sorry motherfucker," Gamzee eventually spoke up, careful through clenched fangs, eyes watering a light purple. Whether this was from lack of sleep or sickness or actual remorse, Equius was unsure. By definition, psychopaths could not feel remorse; but was Gamzee a psychopath? Only half of him seemed to be, the dark broken half that stretched his mind so wide with demands.

Equius bit his lip, pulling one jagged line of blue from flesh, wondering what the percentage was to consider someone fully insane, and whether it mattered at all. Less than fifty, this boy here, had ended with the death of his morial, and did he deserve the pity given? The blood and whispers conniving, driving him to do it- they were no excuse. The Sagittarius wanted to hit him, to smash his face in, but of course he could not-_ he_ was _civilized_, trained to do the opposite.

Furthermore, this troll was his superior. Despite the sudden shift in their dynamics, that much had stayed the same between them, the physical properties of hemoglobin. Equius had values- this troll did not- and he clung to them through thick and thin, all the way to the grave.

"For what, may I ask?" It was an empty question, a bluff, a _test-_ borderline defiance, really. There was very little Gamzee did not have to be sorry for, but Equius wanted to know which aspect he had decided to focus on now, from the death to the conversation to the vomiting in his bathtub.

"for motherfucking everything." The question pulled a broken up grin across Gamzee's face, too wide and too angry. "MOTHERFUCKING EVERYTHING, MOTHERFUCKER." He shouted this, punctuated it with a cough and a gasp and another shake all along his pained body. Insanity revived and his head rolled back, knocked against the sleek ebony upholstery- once, twice, three times- as if he could slam the voices out of his think pan. A laugh burst from his lips, the juice of a plum, a spluttering cursing hysteria, wound through with swears and squeaks and the futile wrenching of his arms.

"shit motherfucking shit sorry equibro i cant breathe or some motherfuck fuck motherfucking fuck" The body next to Equius's convulsed and the brute troll could not help but picture him, back on the meteor, curled up just like this. But then there was alcohol to help him, something of sedation- here, there was nothing. The tooth springing blood from his lip drove in harder, colouring his canine indigo.

"i just meant to motherfucking come apologize and motherfuck, I didn't motherfucking mean to motherfucking flip my motherfucking think pan or motherfuck." Gamzee pulled at Equius's hand again, wrists trembling, and this time the blue blood allowed his escape. He half expected another strike, and winced in anticipation, but the gnarled fingers of the juggalo moved instead to his smeared makeup and then his hair, curling tight in the locks.

He drove a gasp from his lips, burnt, and Equius could not help but pity him. This amount of insanity- whatever the percentage- was only enough to make his life a living hell, and there was a unique sort of sorrow gnawing deep in there, to be aware of the psychotics but unable to stop them. Blood trickled on his tongue.

Callused fingers brushed against his chin and Equius glanced down, surprised to find Gamzee looking up at him with something near clarity. It was whiplash, this to-and-fro insanity, flickering across the trolls think pan before slipping away with their elusive lust, preying whenever they could, at any rough patch.

His other hand was driven beneath his cheek, makeup smeared, still wound thick in his hair and pulling tight with ignored pain. There was a raw air about him, an erratic and dangerous wrath billowing black, but the rough touch on his chin was almost calm, almost gentle. It wiped away the blood he had forgot was dripping, a bright azure across Gamzee's thumb.

"don't motherfucking hurt your motherfucking self motherfucker." It was something of a command, and from behind cracked sunglasses Equius blinked.

The purple blood glanced at the blood, and thought for a fleeting second about what great beautiful paintings he could create- what a glorious mural, a carnival canvas- before pushing it away with another angry pull at his hair. Equius swallowed, and it was an audible noise, him choking down the indigo pooling in his mouth.

Gamzee rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, softly smudging the blue substance, all the while staring at the movement with soft lacquered eyes. "motherfucking done," he announced with a soft smile- the good, lazy, stoned sort- the blood having faded to nothing. His voice stayed low and chockfull of gravel, but it was better than those shrieking laughs.

He was cradling that bird again- Gamzee was- fingers careful and curled, a protective shield around their shaky encounters. That same gentleness when he'd walked, a while back down the corridor, his feet wobbly on that tightrope but trying so desperately hard to stay- it was all there in the rub of his fingers, the way his glance reflected in Equius's glasses, white eyes. There was a part of the blue blood that wanted to rip this chance of repent away- poor bird had been crushed enough in those weary hands- but he could not make himself do so. He wanted to see what would happen, if he'd straighten out the feathers and broken wings and set the thing free.

Insane, but not quite insane enough; Gamzee burrowed his head into the licorice of the couch and closed his eyes, long lashes decorating white cheeks and there was a hint of a smile and a sigh. The juggalo, in his bleared broken mind, seemed to have taken to the idea that it was proper time for a nap.

"High b100d," Equius roused him carefully, not particularly keen on having a violently unstable troll falling asleep on his couch, no matter how he was planning to prove himself different.

"you don't motherfucking need to be motherfucking calling me that all the motherfucking time, motherfucker." A crimson zeal flashed across his eyes, the bright crack of a flare through the night sky, signaling for help.

"i motherfucking told you, i don't motherfucking know how to be a better motherfucker than any other motherfucker." They were old words, easy ones, from before, and Equius did his best not to bring up that Gamzee _did_ know how to act better than others, that he had exhibited this kneeling over Nepeta's corpse.

"i have done a motherfucking lot. but my motherfucking name is still gamzee. you motherfucking used it before."

He had, trying to get the boy to settle down, but now it seemed so out of place in his mouth, like the taste of dry salt on a heated day, not exactly unpleasant but necessitating an eventual drink of water. For the moment, though, he let it sit, rolled it around on his tongue like a fool.

"Gamzee," he intoned after a moment, if only to indulge him. "How are your hands faring?"

The Capricorn glanced at his lacerated hands, all the wriggly little lines decorating them, and blinked several times. It cleared a bit more of the pigment from his eyes, splashing them with saffron, and he sort of smiled. "yeah motherfucker, they feel real nice."

The answer was not quite congruent with the question, but nothing about Gamzee was congruent to anything. He repeated himself in a voice of crumbling sandstone. "real motherfucking nice."

As forward as the Capricorn was, Equius still did not expect the words to be accompanied by a gnarled hand sliding softly across his fingers; like a ghost, like a chance. Only minutes ago he had been massaging the crazed troll's back, but that was more due to instinct and confusion- and desperate hope that the purple blood would stop filling his bathtub with puke- than any romantic inclinations. A light flush licked across his cheeks and he glanced nervously down at the purple blood, jaw snapping tight. Despite his physical ability to abscond, Equius felt trapped, an insect looking out of a glass, divided eyes gleaming. Sweat tear-dropped and slid to the edge of his nose, hanging on the curved, hawkish tip of it; Equius used this as an excuse to reclaim his hand, brushing it across his face with a turn away.

"sorry bro. didn't mean to be all up in your space of the personal." It was amazing how- well, not normal, he was never normal- but absolutely _Gamzee_ when he said it. Not murderous clown, not Dark Carinval, just plain and simple crazy and friendly and incongruently speaking and sopored out of his mind_ Gamzee_.

Not that Gamzee had been very pleasant when he _wasn't_ attempting everyone's murder. Though he had indulged the brute troll once, Equius remembered with a twinge of embarrassment. He also remembered- sans embarrassment, this time- that he'd once considered the harlequin troll a friend/enemy- or the mashed up, synonymous troll word.

"It is fine," he lied, and reminded himself that this was the troll who had slaughtered his morial; it didn't matter whether they had ever been friends or whether he wanted them to be friends now.

"no it's motherfucking not," Equius was surprised to hear the sudden rebuttal, even more surprised when Gamzee sat up, shaking and pale, face all stuttering and limp, carefully putting a hand on the indigo blood's shoulder. "stop lying."

Thoughts of that singular, alcohol filled night of honesty with the Capricorn returned to his mind in the slow curve of the ocean.

"Y-yes. Sorry."

Gamzee cracked a lopsided grin, eyes lidded and yellow. "And stop motherfucking apologizing."

**Wow, two chapters in a row where things actually happen? Getting preeeetty insane here, guys.**

******I hope any readers enjoy and continue to enjoy this story, so far it has been fun writing it. I am worried I may not be as on schedule for the next weeks, the new semester is starting so I have to get used to a returning lack of freedom, and I'll likely be busier because the musical is starting. Just a heads up, in case I don't get the next chapter(s) out on time, it isn't dead and I'm not dead, just doing some work. **


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